Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 121916 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121916 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“I mean, it’s definitely come in handy.”
We both snicker, remembering all the dirty, filthy, naughty—and oh-so fun—things we’ve been doing together since she first rolled her little suitcase into my house weeks ago.
“More lies,” she demands. “I want all of them, big or small.”
I contemplate for a moment. “I don’t buy my mother flowers whenever she comes to visit. I’ve never once done that, actually, and I have zero idea about the name of her favorite flower.”
Ruby bats her eyelashes. “You mean you got handcuffs, lube, and tulips, especially for lil ol’ me? How romantic.”
“I was trying to seduce you with all that stuff, babe. Not romance you. And failing badly.”
“I’m here, aren’t I? Seems to me it was mission accomplished.”
We share another giddy smile.
“More lies,” Ruby commands, tapping an insistent fingertip against my bare chest. “I want every last one.”
I pause to consider, feeling physically high with happiness. Drugged, like I’ve got an IV pumping happy juice into my veins. “When we had that threesome with Bruno, that was my first time doing that. I pretended to be an expert, but I was honestly bluffing. Flying blind.”
Ruby laughs uproariously. “Oh my god, babe. You were incredible at that.”
“You enjoyed that, huh?”
“If I didn’t already love you, that would have done the trick. Come here.”
I scoot to her and we lie nose to nose with her arm draped over me and mine doing the same to her.
Sliding her fingers into the back of my hair, she looks into my eyes and says, “I love you so fucking much, Kendrick Alan Cook. And to be clear, I don’t mean like a brother.”
I smile so big, my cheeks hurt. “I love you, too, Ruby Duby Doo Connolly. And definitely not as a bestie.”
“Definitely not.” She narrows her eyes. “You don’t remember my middle name?”
“Of course I do. Margaret. I remember every damned thing you’ve ever told me, Ruby Margaret Connolly.” As she swoons, I blurt, “Move in with me, baby. Sell your place; rent it—I don’t care, as long as we live together and keep going, exactly like this.”
Forever.
That’s the word I want to add to the end of that plaintive speech, but I lost my nerve at the last second.
Ruby nuzzles her nose against mine. “Baby, I thought you’d never ask.”
“So, that’s a yes?”
“It’s a fuck yes.”
I’m dizzy with excitement, love, and relief. “I love you so much, Ruby Connolly.”
She replies with the best words known to mankind. Or, at least, to me. “Kendrick Cook, my darling, I love you, too.”
33
KENDRICK
“If anyone wants something more than these snacks,” Laila says to the group—Ruby, Kai, Titus, and me—as we get settled in her and Savage’s expansive living room, “there’s a Mexican place down the road that delivers.”
We’re at her and Savage’s gorgeous, beachside home on a Malibu cliffside for another all-hands-on-deck writing sesh—this time with Laila contributing her talents to the cause. We don’t normally invite outside co-writers into our process, even our only honorary band member, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
“I could go for a burrito,” Titus murmurs, patting his flat stomach.
“There’s plenty of snacks right here, T,” Ruby says to her brother, motioning to the impressive spread on the coffee table. “We’ll get an actual meal later as a reward for writing a kickass masterpiece.”
“But I didn’t eat breakfast,” Titus says with a pout.
“Deal with it,” Ruby snaps. “Whenever you eat a full meal at the beginning of a writing sesh, you fall into a food coma, and we need you, and everyone here, working at maximum capacity.”
“I don’t know why you’re so stressed,” Titus says with a yawn. “We’ve still got plenty of time. It’s only one song, dude.”
“Yeah, but it has to be amazing. And don’t forget, we also have to record and rehearse it into the ground. All our calendars are getting so busy with side gigs these days, so finding time when the five of us can get together—the six of us, sorry” —she motions to Laila— “is going to get more and more difficult.”
With a grin, I pipe in to say, “Since our guest mentor episode aired, Ruby’s calendar has filled up like crazy with songwriting sessions. Some of them with legit heavy hitters.”
Everyone expresses excitement for Ruby, and when I prompt her to elaborate, she lists off the artists she’ll be working with soon with a wide smile and sparkling eyes.
“Reed predicted this exact thing would happen as a domino effect to Cooper’s song,” I say. “I guess The Prick really does have some kind of a crystal ball, huh?”
“That’s giving Cooper way too much credit,” Laila says. “Yes, Cooper’s song helped get things rolling, but Ruby’s the one who did this for herself. She’s the one had the genius idea to kiss you at your birthday party, and she’s the one who noticed someone recording. Ruby’s also the one who’s co-written some of the most kickass songs in the world for Fugitive Summer, and she’s the one who expertly plays them live for tens of thousands of people around the world.”